gun.
The last to die was Harold at the age of forty-two. Harold was two years younger than Thom Jeff; he never married. Harold loved baseball, but he wasn’t a very good player. So he umpired all the games in the county—high school in the spring, American Legion in the summer, men’s open and church league softball in the fall. In his early twenties, Harold attended the Bill McGowan School for Umpires in Ormond Beach, Florida. The school ran for five weeks, and when Harold returned home Mr. McGowan arranged for Harold to umpire in minor league games across the state of North Carolina. After several years of umpire school and minor league umpiring at a pittance pay, Harold was called up to umpire in the American League in 1970. That year he joined the Major League Umpires Association (MLUA), a union formed to lobby for benefits for umpires. After the one-day strike of the championship playoff on October 3, 1970, the MLUA negotiated a labor contract that set the minimum salary of $11,000—over double what Harold had made during the season and more than he possibly could have hoped to make in North Wilkesboro. He umpired two more seasons. He died of a brain aneurysm on New Year’s Eve, 1972. Dubya was convinced Harold was another victim of the Curse. That left only Thom Jeff, who had turned forty-eight that February. Ham thought the deaths of the MacPherson men, with the exception of Harold, were due more to liquor and stupidity than to any kind of cosmic Curse.
The Curse was the last thing on anyone’s mind that night at the Hillbilly Hideaway. Along with family members, Cornelia had invited a large number of folk from church, and everyone was in a festive mood. After a dinner of salad, mashed potatoes, green beans, sweet corn, short ribs, and fried chicken—all served family style—the “program” that evening consisted of a few words from Cousin Magnum Fox and Brother Bob Sechrest. Magnum Fox lived in Seattle, Washington, but he made the trip to North Carolina at least once a year, usually at Christmas when he would recite from memory Dr. Seuss’s “The Grinch Who Stole Christmas” to all the children’s delight (“Every Who down in Whoville loved Christmas a lot / But the Grinch who lived just north of Whoville did not . . . ”). He was the family’s “genealogist” and would update everyone on his most recent discoveries of the MacPherson family history. Ham was sure that one year Cousin Magnum would announce that the first MacPherson had come to America on the Mayflower.
Tonight, as with every other visit he made to North Carolina, Cousin Magnum gave each child a silver dollar and to each adult he gave a copy of his latest reconstructed MacPherson family tree and a calendar—with the MacPherson crest and clan motto, “Touch Not the Cat Bot a Glove.” Ham was not quite sure what the motto meant; something about being prepared he guessed, since he knew from experience how badly a mad cat could scratch. Ham was disappointed that this year he fell into the adult category and got the family tree and calendar and not the silver dollar. Best Ham could figure, Cousin Magnum, who must have been close to Dubya in age, was Dubya’s first cousin, son of the sister of Dubya’s father. Dubya, of course, remembered neither his father nor his aunt. Ham checked the family tree to see how Magnum had listed Grandpa Dubya’s father. It said simply “R. E. MacPherson.”
“Cousin Magnum, what does the R. E. stand for?” Ham asked, as he did every other time Magnum Fox distributed a genealogical tree.
Magnum looked at Dubya and winked. “Ask your grandfather, Ham.”
Brother Bob gave a short devotional about how wonderful it was to celebrate together a long life well lived. He talked about the parable of the Prodigal Son, not so much about the sin of the Prodigal or even his repentance, but more about the party the father gave the son. And how much God wants to give a party for any and all of us. Then he smiled at Dubya and Cornelia, threw open his arms to those gathered there and whispered, “Don’t miss the party!”
A much smaller group gathered at Dubya and Cornelia’s house for cake after the dinner. As planned, Ham drove home. Carl could be heard snoring in the back of the hearse, even through the tinted glass. When they pulled in the driveway and up to the front of the house, they could see through the front window that people were already gathering in the dining room. Dubya looked at Cornelia and said, “What’s he doin’ here?” Cornelia looked up to see her younger brother, Roosevelt Brookshire, looking out the front window at them.
“He’s my brother, Dubya. I had to invite him. But I promise I had no idea he would come.”
Dubya didn’t dislike Roosevelt. But he knew that “Rose” and Thom Jeff despised each other. The conflict was mostly over the fact John Jr., Rose’s older brother, had refused to let Rose join Dubya and himself in the sawmill business, despite the fact Dubya had made it clear he was happy to have Rose as part of the business. That, of course, meant Rose was cut out of the furniture business deal that later proved so lucrative to John Jr. Rose couldn’t be mad at his brother because John Jr. had hired Rose to work in the furniture company. And he couldn’t really be mad at Dubya because Dubya hadn’t opposed him working with them at the sawmill; furthermore, Dubya had benefitted even less from Brookshire Furniture than Rose had. So for whatever reason, Rose’s wrath had landed on Thom Jeff. And being no wilting flower, Thom Jeff had reciprocated the dislike word for word and action for action.
That night it looked like they might make it through the cake and ice cream and go home in peace. Thom Jeff and Rose, both inebriated, had managed to stay on opposite sides of the room. But in the blink of an eye, which is often the case in these kind of squabbles, Thom Jeff and Rose were standing toe to toe yelling at each other at the top of their lungs. Ham had no idea what they were arguing about, and later neither did the two of them. Thom Jeff was poking Rose in the chest with his finger, when all of a sudden Rose produced a pistol and began waving it around the room.
“What the hell are you doin’, Rose!?!” Thom Jeff shouted and lunged for the gun. They struggled, and the gun went off and the front window of the dining room exploded. Everybody froze.
An eternity later, a disheveled and disoriented Uncle Carl threw open the front door and surveyed the room, inhaler in hand. He saw the gun still in Rose’s hand.
“Godammit, Rose. You shot Mr. Ed!”
“Dear Jesus! Who’s Mr. Ed?” asked Edith before she passed out and crumpled to the floor. Aunt Edith always did have a flair for the dramatic.
As he rushed over to relieve Uncle Rose of his weapon Ham had two thoughts. First, the Curse of MacPherson stupidity had been narrowly avoided this time. And second, this probably wasn’t the kind of party Brother Bob or God had in mind.
Chapter 6
No charges were filed. As far as the MacPhersons were concerned, it was just another family “incident” of which there had been many and no doubt would be many more. Cornelia would arrange to have the front window replaced. Aunt Nora and Wilson spent the night with Dubya and Cornelia and went to church with them the next day. Nora was curious about how the Little Rock Baptist Church—now the Second Little Rock Baptist Church—had changed since she was a girl growing up and attending there. From what she had heard it had become one of a handful of progressive Baptist churches in North Carolina, similar to Pullen Memorial, the one she attended in Chapel Hill. It even had women deacons like Pullen! Because of family, church, and business commitments, she hadn’t been able to attend services there since Brother Bob had become co-pastor, and that had been nearly ten years. Even on holidays, she and Wilson made it a point to be back at Pullen on a Sunday morning where the two of them had taken turns rotating on and off the deacon group. But curiosity had finally gotten the best of her.
She was not disappointed in the service. There was something there for everyone, and she loved that communion was observed every week. The highlight of the service was Scotty Moore’s baptism at the end of the service.
Scotty was a cherished treasure in the community. He had been diagnosed during childhood with a hydrocephalic condition.
